2. Dani

"Danika!"

My eyes snap open and I jump in my seat, startled. Standing next to me, the young blonde smirks. "Easy there," Rose says as she grips my shoulder, probably to keep me from falling right out of the chair. "You fell asleep again."

Again? I press the heel of my palms into my eyes and groan. "Please tell me David didn't see." The last thing I need is for my boss to catch me sleeping in the break room . . . again.

Rose chuckles, a light airy sound. "David stepped out right after the mid-morning rush, something about errands to run. I think you were ringing up a customer when he left."

Oh, thank God. "He trusts us with his store that much, huh?"

"Guess so." Rose quirks a brow as her smirk widens. "Late night?"

I can practically taste the implication behind her words and frown. Her suggestive hand motions only deepen my scowl and with a sigh I lean back, affixing her with my best 'go to hell' look as I mumble, "More like bad dreams." Sorry to disappoint you, Rose, but no wild and crazy sex stories here. None worth mentioning for a while now, anyway, not since—

"Please tell me you aren't still dreaming about her," Rose growls, narrowing her bright blue eyes at me. "It's been what, a year since that bitch broke your heart?" She runs a manicured hand through my caramel hair, flipping the ends playfully over my shoulder as her gaze softens. "You're better off, Dani girl. Leaving was her choice."

Actually, it was her parents' choice. They gave Monica an ultimatum: either risk being cut off and ostracized by staying with me to live out this 'gay phase', as they called it, or move halfway across Texas to finish out her nursing degree back home in the Bible Belt and continue to enjoy her financial freedom. I would love to think that it wasn't an easy choice, but then I don't think I've ever seen someone pack up and walk out on an eight-month relationship so fast. It cut a little deeper knowing that we were close friends before we started dating, and her parents had actually liked me—until they found out I was sleeping with their daughter, of course.

Lesson learned, don't confuse a drunken kiss during a night out for mutual feelings and start dating your mostly-straight college roommate. What was the term Rose had used to describe it, heteroflexible? To her credit, though, Monica really did try to make it work in the short time we were together. But even in my wildest fantasies of eloping like two star-crossed lovers in a 'forbidden romance' novel, did I really expect her to choose me over her own family? Or for us to stay friends after the lines we crossed and the pain that followed when our love was finally cut at the seams? Some might say that this type of heartache is the very thing that defines a person's formative years; to that, I say 'fuck you'. Let me wallow in my self-pity. It's a much better plan than putting myself out there again only to have it become someone else's 'mistake', anyway.

"Dani?"

Pulled from my thoughts, I shake my head and offer the blonde a meek smile. "Quit worrying. Monica's been off my mind for a while now." It was mostly true. "These dreams, though . . ."

My words trail off as I tie up my hair and push myself to my feet. It's the same dream I've been having for as long as I can remember: a woman, covered from head to toe in scorching fire. Sometimes she's screaming at me and sometimes she's just staring silently through me, as if she's waiting for something, and although I can never see her face I can always feel the flames of her rage even long after I've woken up. Occasionally I'll dream of other things—recently they've been about Monica and her latest boy toy—but the burning woman always finds her way back. Skin on fire. Howling in eternal agony.

"Come on, Casanova," Rose laughs as she heads out the break room door. "Lots of people will be wanting their fix today and David won't approve of his barista having wet dreams on the clock."

I had once told Rose about my recurring dream and she had not-so-subtly hinted that it was my repressed sexual frustration begging to be released. Needless to say, I've never brought it up to her again. But that hasn't stopped her from cracking sex jokes at my expense every chance she gets.

I scrunch my face, a rebuttal on my tongue and poised to strike, but the blonde is already back at the counter chatting up a customer. So instead, I straighten my apron and I grab a basket of cleaning supplies as I make my way to the front. These tables won't bus themselves.

Situated in the affluent northeastern district of Trinity Valley, the little café was only twenty blocks from the local university's east campus. As a result, the morning rush typically consisted of many young college students as they downed their overly-caffeinated beverages and furiously typed away the essays they had been procrastinating on for the better part of the semester. By the time afternoon rolls around and classes are in full swing, the bustle of the crowd usually dies down to a slow trickle.

Left behind on the table next to me, a newspaper article from Tuesday catches my attention and I quickly skim over the headline: 'Mutilated body of a jogger found in Goss Hollow Park, bringing the total number of victims to five. Police and animal control urge hikers to stay alert for any signs of this feral cougar.'

Five bodies in two months? It was unusual for a cougar to hunt so close to the city, and even more so for them to attack people. They weren't very common this far south and I've overheard several customers claim that these eyewitness reports weren't as accurate as the news painted them to be. But a few of the more bizarre explanations I've heard, anywhere from it being a savage bear to a crazed satanic cult to a chupacabra of all things, were just too outlandish to be taken seriously. Still, a wild animal preying so close to home was a little unnerving.

"Look alive, Dani girl!" Rose beams, flashing her pearly whites and wiggling her eyebrows from behind the counter. "Red alert!"

My head snaps up at the nickname. Was it noon already?

Stalker.

I do my best to ignore the little voice in the back of my mind chastising me for memorizing her coffee schedule, but it really wasn't all that difficult. The woman was like clockwork. For the last three months, she's been stopping by the café early in the morning every Tuesday and Thursday and at noon on Saturdays. And she was infallibly punctual.

She always orders a small medium roast coffee, black. No cream, three sugars, no pastries. Every time.

She always places a five dollar bill in the tip jar, even though her beverage costs less than three bucks.

And she always sits at the table closest to the front door. Some days she'll pick up one of the newspapers or magazines we have lying around and skim casually over the articles, quirking a brow every so often but otherwise regarding the words with aloof disinterest, and other days she'll just stare outside and people-watch as she slowly sips her coffee.

I know this because while she was busy watching the world outside, I was usually watching her. From afar. Like . . . a stalker. Only stalkers do this.

God, I hate myself.

A familiar head of wavy red hair comes into view just outside, gliding across the full-pane windows and setting my stomach aflutter.

Ding!

I wasn't sure if the chime was announcing the arrival of a paying customer or a goddess.

The slight breeze of the café air escaping through the front door tousles her hair, auburn strands kissing her flawless cheeks as they sweep over her shoulders like a fiery waterfall. She was tall and lean. The usual black leather jacket, fitted dark jeans and boots she wore enhanced her natural frame; the pair of stylish aviators concealing her eyes only added to the mysterious appeal. The woman absently, or maybe intentionally, combs slender fingers through her hair as she strolls to the counter, seemingly unaware of the attention she was garnering from the few patrons craning their necks to catch a glimpse of this rare beauty.

Goddess. Definitely a goddess.

"Hello!" Rose greets loudly, jarring me from whatever spell had cast me in a daze. "Welcome to Café Roasted. Can I interest you in a slice of cheesecake today?"

No, you can't, Rose. She never orders food and she takes her coffee black. With three sugars.

Oh my God, Dani, stop!

As the redhead peruses the menu hanging behind the counter overhead—a front, I've come to learn, as she never deviates from her regular order—Rose spares a glance in my direction and taps the back of her hand discreetly against her chin.

Is my mouth open? Am I gawking? Rose's smug wink suggests that, yes, I am openly gaping at them. Like a lunatic.

My cheeks flush red-hot and I suddenly find a coffee stain on the table in front of me very interesting. The tarry substance sticks to the cloth rag like gum, pulling loose a few fuzzy white fibers as I scrub in vain. Have people never heard of napkins before? How long has this stain been sitting here, anyway? Trying my best to keep from rolling my eyes, I grab the spray bottle from the tray and douse the surface with a thin layer of chemicals. If this doesn't break up that stain, I swear—

"You'd think some people would've heard of napkins, huh?"

My heart pounds in my chest like booming claps of thunder as the honey-coated words freeze my hands in place and I slowly raise my head.

Thump.

Pristine black leather jacket, fully unzipped.

Thump, thump.

A light gray graphic tee with the label of some band I never heard of, but instantly wish I had, clings comfortably to an athletic build. My gaze travels up her long slender neck, along her angular cheekbones to the tinted sunglasses resting atop her head like a crown fit for a queen before flicking back down. Is that vanilla I smell?

Thump, thump, thump.

Piercing golden-brown eyes with subtle flecks of green and blue stare back at me while a perfectly sculpted eyebrow arches ever so slightly, and it takes all of my willpower to keep my jaw from dropping to the floor.

Red alert! Red alert!

If it wasn't for the fact that I was still standing on my feet I would have sworn up and down that my heart went into cardiac arrest. Or maybe it did and this is all just an out of body experience, a dream come true. How many times have I wished to stand so close to this ethereal, fiery-haired goddess and talk about something beyond the usual, 'That'll be $2.75, here's your change'?

Her brow lifts higher and she sets two coffees—two?—down on the table, her eyes locking my gaze in place as she waits for my response. Realization hits me like a freight train.

Oh no, she asked a question! What was it? How long have I just been staring at her like this, like a deer in headlights? Am I gawking again? I should reply or she'll think I'm an idiot. Please, just don't make it awkward!

My mind goes blank and before I can stop myself, I blurt out the only thing I can think of as a safe response. "Uh, oui?"

I imagine facepalming my fist straight into my eye.

I take a French class for one semester and suddenly it's all I can say. I don't even remember any of the words we learned that summer, except apparently how to say freaking 'yes' to a question that was obviously meant as a conversation starter. What is wrong with me!

Her eyes widen slightly in surprise. I inwardly cringe and wish I would just spontaneously combust into flames right on the spot—at least then I would be spared from this embarrassment. This wasn't a dream anymore. It was a nightmare of torrential humiliation, and I was drowning in it.

"Oui?" Red repeats, rolling the word around on her tongue like it was a fine wine and she a sommelier tasting an exciting new flavor. I immediately decide that I like how French words sound coming from her lips. Or anything from her lips, really. "Donc vous parlez aussi couramment le français?"

Those words sound the tiniest bit silly with her southern accent. Only the tiniest bit, though. Wait, she speaks French? She thinks I speak French? I only took that class because it was a basic requirement for my bachelor's degree, and I barely passed it! Kill me. Kill me now.

In an effort to save myself from further shame, I swallow down the softball-sized lump of what I'm sure is my pride and offer her my best customer service smile. I really hope my face isn't cherry red right now, but if the heat flaring in my cheeks is any indication then I was already a lost cause. "Oh, sorry, but I don't actually speak French!" I allow a nervous laugh to rattle off my tongue before I quickly bite it back. I didn't trust myself with anything more. "I don't even know why I said that."

Her lips spread into a lopsided grin, a glimmer of amusement twinkling in her eyes, and I practically melt under her gaze. "Ah, my mistake." She then motions to the table. "Is this one taken? My usual is occupied." She points in the direction of the window but I don't have to look. I've dedicated her usual routine to memory, like the stalker I am.

Please, sit wherever you want. Don't mind me as I crawl back under a rock. "No," I stammer instead, slowly letting go of the breath I hadn't realized I was holding in. I give the wooden table one more wipe for good measure. "There, a surface clean enough to eat off of!"

Oh my God, did I just say that?

The light chuckle that rumbles in her throat confirms that I did, indeed, say that and I feel like I'm on the verge of bursting into flames right on the spot. Whoever invented the phrase 'crash and burn' clearly meant it to be literal. "N-not that I'd recommend eating off the table or anything!" I'm an idiot and I should stop talking right now. "I just meant that it's, well, it's sanitary. So you could if, if you wanted to."

Great save, Dani.

"I think I'll stick to plates for now." Red takes a seat, her smile unwavering. "But thanks anyway. And don't worry, I'll be sure to use napkins."

Taking that as my cue, I grab the basket of cleaning supplies and walk as quickly as I can to the break room. My face is on fire and I'm pretty sure I just died a little inside. Any ounce of hope I had before now has been brutally murdered by my own awkwardness.

"Oh. My. God!" Rose's words slip through my thoughts as she drapes an arm around my shoulders. Her cheery disposition is laced with a tinge of pity, like the kind of tone you adopt when you've been laughing at someone else's expense and then feel bad for them later. "I thought you were going to implode, your face was so red!"

The heat burning in my cheeks indicated that it was still red, but to her credit Rose declined to point that out. Why pour salt on an already festering wound?

"Three months of waiting for a chance to talk to her and I blow it in ten seconds!" The anguished groan that escapes my throat sounds like it belongs to a wounded animal and I'm pretty sure the look I'm giving her in that moment is screaming, 'Please just put me out of my misery.'

"Awe, I doubt it was that bad—"

"This is why I'm single. I have about as much sex appeal as a dead fish." And my fear of trying again has absolutely nothing to do with it. If anything, that little dignified display of suaveness was enough to convince me to take an oath of celibacy for the rest of my life.

Rose only smiles and shakes her head. "I'm sure there's someone out there who really loves seafood. I'd be concerned about the necrophilia, though."

I roll my eyes, but then a thought worms its way into the forefront of my mind like a bad omen. "Hey, Rose." The blonde tilts her head and I bite my lower lip. Do I really want to know? After that embarrassing exchange we'll probably never speak again, so I guess it wouldn't hurt to ask. "She had two drinks with her." She never buys two drinks. "Did she say anything about—"

Ding!

The announcement of a new patron draws her gaze to the door and a low whistle escapes her lips. "Well we've got a bit of a 'good news, bad news' situation, here," Rose murmurs, peering around the corner like a little kid spying on Santa.

I laugh, though it sounds more forced than I probably meant it to. Probably. "What could possibly be good news after that catastrophe?"

"Red's gay."

I don't think I've ever moved so fast in my life. "How do you know?" I ask, poking my head around the corner. And then I saw what had Rose so transfixed.

A tall slim-built woman with dark eyes and long, immaculately-straight black hair glides over to the back table where Red is sitting. The bright red sundress she wore stood out boldly against her ebony skin and perfectly matched the shade of red painted on her lips, which were curled up into a devilish smile that sent chills down my spine. If Red was a goddess then this woman could only be the devil. A sexy devil with six-inch stilettos and lust in her eyes. But was there any other kind?

"And the bad news?" I ask, my voice barely a whisper as I watch Red stand up and wrap her arms around the other woman's waist. It could be a friendly hug, friends hug all the time. There's nothing wrong with a hug.

The other woman laughs—a disgustingly seductive sound—at something Red says and slips her arms under the redhead's jacket, giving the shorter woman a light squeeze as she presses their bodies closer. Okay, that was a little more intimate than how I would hug a friend, but friends can give intimate hugs, too. Right?

Rose clucks her tongue against her teeth, confirming my fears. "She's definitely gay."

"M-maybe they're just friends." I don't sound convinced. And as the raven-haired beauty pulls away, tracing her fingers down the length of Red's arm with a wink before taking her seat, I'm even less convinced. "Really, really good friends."

Rose offers me a knowing smile. "Sorry, Dani girl, but you don't hug someone like that unless you're sleeping with them."

I must have looked absolutely dejected because the blonde glances me over and pats my arm as if she were trying to console a crying child. "Hey, screw them, right? If Red can't see how awesome you are then she doesn't deserve your time."

Our conversational topics up until today have revolved solely around her choice order of coffee. She speaks fluent French and she's a bombshell. I turn into a red-faced, blubbering mess the moment I have the opportunity to say anything remotely beguiling. In what world could I ever hope to stand a chance with her?

"Don't do that."

I blink. "Do what?"

"Make excuses for yourself. You did that after Monica and I had to listen to you whine about it for almost a year. I'm not letting you do that now after one bad conversation with a girl you've been ogling for only a few months."

"I wasn't ogling—"

"You've been ogling and, as your friend, it's been depressing for me to watch. It's fucking Saturday and you haven't taken an oath of celibacy. We're going out tonight and you're going to get laid."

It's a command, not a request.

Before I can retort, Rose narrows her eyes and regards me with a stone-cold no-nonsense stare, daring me to challenge her. I sigh instead and she gives a curt nod before wandering back to the front of the café to tend to the new customers. There was no arguing with Ice Rose once she made up our minds.

As I busy myself with filling orders, trying and failing to avert my eyes from the goddess and the devil exchanging hushed whispers and secretive touches only a few feet away, I decide that a night out might actually do me some good. It's been far too long since I've had fun and clearly I was out of practice when it came to charming the lovely ladies of Trinity Valley. Tonight, I was in need of redemption.

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A/N: Our second protagonist has arrived! I wonder how Dani's attempts for redemption will play out--hopefully better than her attempt at speaking French!

As always, thank you for reading! Please don't forget to comment/vote :)